Page 69 of All the Forbidden Things

I try a different tact. “You need to deduct my rent out of that amount then.”

“No, I don’t. It’s a benefit of the job—”

“Max . . .”

He smiles. “Look at you getting all pissed off. I’d forgotten about that red-headed temper of yours.”

I blow out a breath, or a huff, and feeling frustrated, I get up from the table and move to the fridge. Pulling a bottle of water out, I turn back to face him, and before I can say anything, he chimes in with, “That’ll be five quid, please.”

“What?”

“The water. You wanna do things your way, fine. That’ll be five quid every time you take a bottle of water from my fridge.”

I look from him to the bottle. “You need to stop buying these, they’re killing the wildlife in our oceans and polluting our planet.”

“I don’t buy them. They’ve been sitting in there for months. The fridge is plumbed in. I get my water from the dispenser and pour it straight into a glass or refill my drink bottle.”

“How much do you charge for a glass of water?”

“A quid, usually. For you, three quid.”

“You’re a dick,” I tell him.

“I’m well aware of that. I’m still paying you the amount I said though.”

“Fine, I’ll just spend it on Layla.”

“I’ll also be adding an allowance for things you might need to get her.”

I throw the bottle of water at him. Gritting my teeth as a dull pain shoots through my side. His reaction is on point, and he catches it with one hand just as the alarm sounds for the gate.

Max moves towards the back door, and I quickly check on Layla who, after spending two hours wide awake lying under her baby gym earlier, is now sleeping soundly, and then follow Max.

My brother is outside in the monster-sized pickup truck he had imported from America a couple of years back. The thing is a beast, and how he navigates it through the busy, narrow streets of London, I have no idea.

I watch as Max and Cal go through their manly backslap-handshake routine before Cal comes over and kisses the top of my head. “Missed ya, kid. How’s it going, he looking after you?”

“It’s only been a day, but going good so far.”

My brother nods. “I’ve got all your shit in the back of The Beast.”

“My shit? That’s everything I own in the world.” I attempt to sound offended.

Max is opening up the lid on the truck’s tray as I speak. “This is it?” he questions.

“I was living in someone else's house, so all I had there were my clothes and a few personal bits and pieces.”

For some reason, I’m now embarrassed by my lack of possessions. It makes me feel alone, lonely, and that’s not fair to my brother and Mel. They’ve never done anything to make me feel anything other than loved, wanted, and cherished my entire life.

“It wasn’t my own place, I couldn’t just fill it with . . .” I shrug. Bloody hell, why do I feel like I’m going to cry?

“Fill the flat with whatever you want, Bamm. If you wanna change the sofa,anyof the furniture, or paint the walls, do it. The place is yours,” Max tells me, making my nose tingle and throat burn.

My brother looks from me to Max and back again.

“You okay with this? You don’t have to live-in. Your old room will always be there for you, you know that, right?”

“I know,” I tell him quietly. “It’s just, I don’t know. I just feel sad at seeing my whole life packed up into six boxes.”